The Sum of One and One is Everything
by keslei
Summary: A collection of scenes from Peter and Olivia's perspectives, centered around their daughter, starting with her birth. Now complete.
1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:** I started working on this piece right before 5x02 aired, because I had a few paragraphs in my brain that needed to come out. The plan is to have four parts - _Beginnings_, _Loss_, _Reunion_, and _Finality_. This wasn't written from beginning to end, but as inspiration came to me, so some pieces of the other sections are already written. My goal is to have each section fit in with existing canon at the time of publication. No guarantees on how long it will take me to finish this.

**Disclaimer:** These characters, their lives, and their universe are not my property.

* * *

**Part One - Beginnings**

* * *

She is Olivia Dunham, and so, on the night when her water breaks, a slight trembling in her hands as she shakes him awake and gets dressed is the only sign of her fear and nervousness. While she dresses and gathers her things, she methodically works through her mental checklist of necessary items, to help push down the thoughts that try to invade her mind, but as she sits down in the passenger seat she can no longer hold back the flood of worries filling her mind, the same fears she has carefully ignored for the past nine months.

_What if...? What if I don't know how to be a good mother? What if I can't love her the way she needs to be loved? What if something happens to her? Or worse, what if something happens to us and she is left alone in this broken world? What if...? "We're playing the odds, Peter. What do you really think our chances are of having a normal life?" Gambling with my own life, our own lives, that's one thing, but now? What if... what if...?_

The thoughts careen through her mind, repeat over and over, a litany of her worst nightmares, as she stares straight ahead, sees terrible scenes play out in front of her, scenes filled with blood and death and anger and sorrow, and she clenches her hands together in an attempt to hold on to what's real.

* * *

He is Peter Bishop, and therefore, on the night when she wakes him at 3:37 AM, he is so nervous and excited that he puts his shirt on backwards and inside-out without even noticing, almost forgets her overnight bag, and has to go back for the car keys which he left on the hook. On the way to the hospital, he alternates between driving 15 over the limit and muttering condemnations to himself after each of the four wrong turns he makes, all the while constantly turning to check on her, to make sure she's alright, to make sure their baby is alright. And so it doesn't take him long to notice that she is most definitely _not_ alright. He reaches over and threads his hand between hers, breaks her death grip on herself.

"Hey...are you okay?... 'Livia? What's wrong?"

As she looks up at him, the haunted pain he sees in her eyes drives home into his soul, and he knows immediately what she's thinking about. He's seen this before, in a future that almost was, in the eyes of a different Olivia, one who didn't want to bring a child into a broken world.

_I wish I could tell you that it will be okay, that we don't need to worry about what the future might bring, but I can't, I know all too well how empty that promise would be, how no matter how hard I work to protect this family, there will always be the possibility that you could be torn away from me at any moment. But I wish you could see past that, could see what keeps me going, that even in the midst of all the insanity in the universe, there can be love and happiness and goodness. Look at us, Liv - look at all that we have, despite everything that's come our way... Let me in, let me show you the world as I see it..._

"Honey, you're not alone in this. I'm here."

He squeezes her hand gently, silently encourages her to allow him to help pull her out of the private hell she is inflicting on herself.

"Peter... I'm scared."

And though her quiet admission causes him pain because of what she must be feeling to get her to admit that, he also breathes a silent sigh of relief.

"Don't be. We can do this, you know, you and me. We've dealt with monsters and shapeshifters and nefarious masterminds and Walter cooking naked on Tuesdays, so I think holding together a family is well within what we can handle..."

"Not funny. This isn't a joke..."

"... I know. Seriously though, Liv, I know the world is a scary place, and the idea of trying to raise a kid in the middle of it is pretty daunting, but don't give up on it before we even start. People still have families in this world, and I think ours probably has a better shot than most, because we know what's really out there. This kid will have you to look out for her, and me to take care of her and of you, and a grandpa who'll spoil her rotten, and it won't matter what the world outside is like, because our family will be good."

The sound of a car horn behind him rudely interrupts their conversation to inform him that the traffic light is now green, and he quickly focuses back on the road, but out of the corner of his eye he sees that she is thinking about what he said, and so he waits patiently until she is ready to speak. She stares out the window for a few blocks, and then he feels her gaze come back to him.

"Do you really believe that - what you said about our family having a shot at a good life?"

"Yeah, I do."

He smiles at her, willing her to believe along with him, and his heart lifts as she finally smiles back softly.

"Okay then. And Peter?... Thanks."

"Any time... Damn. That was our turn..."

* * *

When the contractions start, and with them comes the pain, she doesn't scream or cry; she only reaches out without looking for the hand that she knows will be there when she needs it, because it always has been. Even in those early days when she knew he resented the position she'd placed him in, when she wondered every week whether she'd call his phone to find the number disconnected and him gone, he had been there with an encouraging word, a joke to coax a smile out of her, a relatively sane presence in the middle of the impossibility that was becoming their life. He has always been her rock, her constant when she needs something to hold on to, and today is no different.

Between the waves of pain, as she closes her eyes and breathes deeply, tries to prepare for the next round, she feels his fingers gently brush her cheek, tuck a strand of sweat-soaked hair back behind her ear, as he whispers her encouragements that she only halfway hears. Words have no meaning for her at this moment, only sensations and emotions.

His hand in hers, anchoring her. The murmur of his voice, easing her tension. His solid presence, calming her fears. This is all that matters, at least until the pain comes again.

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity to her, it is over, and as she hears her daughter squall out her indignation at her entrance to the world, her heart beats faster in nervous anticipation, already filled with love for a child she hasn't yet seen.

* * *

He's pretty sure he lost all circulation to his fingers about five minutes ago, but there's no way he's even going to try to pull his hand out of her white-knuckled grasp. First off, she's got pretty much an iron grip, so the effort would probably be pointless, but more importantly, this is about all he can do for her. And that inability to do anything concrete is driving him insane.

_Who would have thought, even five years ago, that I'd wind up being the guy who's mentally freaking out because his wife's in labor? Funny how the world changes..._

Really, all he wants to do is make her pain stop, but that's definitely outside his power, so he's stuck with holding her hand and hoping this happens quickly, both for her sake and his own. He's no good at standing by while she's hurting, never really has been. Ever since she showed up in his life with her tough-as-nails exterior and her eyes full of pain and desperation, his protective instincts have always kicked into overdrive wherever she's concerned. Of course, back then he knew better than to offer her more than a few comforting words or a quick touch on the arm, but that didn't stop him from wanting to be able to do more.

_You really did a number on my life, Olivia Dunham... I hadn't cared about anyone except myself in nearly twenty years, but it took you less than a day to start to work your way into my heart, and now, I can't imagine life without you. You're my world..._

His grasp on her hand tightens to match the strength of hers, an involuntary response to the emotions rushing through him, and she looks up into his eyes as the next contraction starts. Together they wait out the pain, hands clasped and gazes locked, connected by a love stronger than the laws of the universe.

And finally, just when he thinks that he can't take seeing her pain anymore, the doctor is saying that it's time, and then there's a flurry of activity, nurses moving around, blocking his view, and then he hears her for the first time. She's got quite the set of lungs on her, his daughter, and he thinks to himself that her cries may be the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. The look in his wife's eyes says she's thinking the same thing, and they share silent smiles.

Moments later, the nurse is saying his name, holding out a squirming, blanket-wrapped bundle, and he turns, reaches out with shaking hands. He's nervous beyond belief, but as he takes his daughter into his arms, his fears disappear, replaced by absolute wonder at the miracle that he's holding.

And as he stares in awe at this miniature, wrinkled, beautiful person, who is his to love, his to protect, he knows that his life has changed again like it did that day years ago in Baghdad. Olivia gave him a home, a reason to stop running, and now the tiny, squalling child in his arms has given him a purpose.

_"Be a better man than your father." You are my daughter. My daughter! I would do anything for you, give everything. You will never be alone; you will always know you are loved._

He brushes his lips on her forehead in a gentle kiss, still marveling at how perfect she is, then carefully places his daughter (he thinks again, _my daughter!_) into her mother's waiting arms.

"Kiddo, meet your mom."

* * *

Her world has been turned upside down in an instant before, many times, but as she holds her daughter close, drinks in every detail of her face, she knows that none of those moments could ever come close to this one. She may be utterly exhausted and still sore, but the love that she feels for this precious little one fills her like nothing she's ever experienced before, as she gently traces those tiny features with a fingertip, whispers to her baby how beautiful she is, how perfectly her little body fits against her mommy's, how much she is loved.

But even the rush of emotions cannot defeat her body's demands for rest, so she gently transfers their little piece of perfection back into his arms, and she drifts off to sleep, carried along on the lullaby that he hums for their daughter.

Some time later, she wakes to the sound of his voice, and opens her eyes to see him pacing back and forth across the room, tenderly rocking their daughter in his arms as he quietly elaborates on her perfection.

"See, you have one perfect nose, which I bet is going to look just like your mom's, and two adorable ears, and I'm sure that when you open those squinty little eyes they'll be a beautiful shade of blue, and here we have one little hand, complete with five tiny fingers..."

He stops then, just a few feet from her, and she sees his face break into a giant grin, as he gazes down at the tiny fingers that have just wrapped around his, with a look of absolute amazement and adoration. And in that instant, she loves him more than ever.

She watches him without moving, not wanting to break the moment, but after a few seconds the little fingers lose their grip, and he looks up and meets her gaze.

"Did you see, Liv? She grabbed my finger!"

And he moves over to the bed with his precious cargo, hands her their daughter so she can share in this first of many firsts.

"I saw."

The smile on her face as she looks into his eyes and then back down at their baby girl speaks the feelings she can't put into words, and he wraps his arms around them both, encircling their little family. It's then that she knows what perfect contentment feels like, and she whispers softly to their daughter.

"Welcome home, Etta."

* * *

That day in the hospital, they have everything they could ever want.

And for three years, one month, and five days, the world is exactly as it should be.


	2. Loss

******Author's Note:** I apologize for taking so long to get this section up. It was incredibly emotionally draining to write, and about halfway through it took off in a direction that I hadn't originally intended, and wound up being longer than planned. Also, the recent developments in Season 5 have been dragging my fanfic writing time off on other fics or later parts of this one, plus real life got in the way. However, I am hoping to get the next section up soon, as it has been mostly finished for a while now. Hope you like this newest addition, even though it's sad.

* * *

**Part Two - Loss**

* * *

She is Olivia Dunham, and so, on the day the world falls apart, she fights desperately to pick up the pieces, to put things back as they should be. Never mind that this is her nightmare come to life, it doesn't matter that she is bloodied and battered, the only thing she needs to do is to find her, to find the one person in her world who hasn't been touched by the weird and the terrible, to protect her innocence for just a little bit longer. So she pushes her way through the EMTs, through the wounded and dying, shoves aside anyone who gets in her way, calls her name all the while, holds on to the hope that in just a moment, she will see that little face peering up at her.

Every second she spends looking for her daughter seems like an eternity to her, as time seems to slow down, trapping her in slow motion while her thoughts and her fears speed ahead. And her fears have had three years to fester and grow, three years to take root in her soul, so today as they spring back to the surface, she struggles to hold on to hope.

_She's gone. She can't be gone! She's here somewhere. You know she's not. You didn't deserve her. I love her. I'll find her. She was never really yours. You didn't love her enough. I am her mother and she is mine and I will find her!_

But as she searches that sea of faces without finding the one that is as familiar to her as her own, her heart starts to sink. She glances around frantically then, crazy with fear, searching for an anchor as the world starts to blur around her. Now she calls out his name rather than hers, needing to find her husband, because they have always been stronger together, and if he's with her she knows they can find Etta, can save her from the destruction that surrounds them today. She needs him, because together they are unstoppable.

* * *

He is Peter Bishop, and therefore, on the day his world is shattered, he will not rest until his family is intact again, until he has corrected his failure. When he finds his wife, when she is alive, she is alright, he begins to breathe again, until he hears those awful words: "No children were brought in."

But he can't bring himself to simply accept that statement, refuses to believe that his daughter is missing until he has confirmed it for himself, so he moves through the chaos with a single purpose. He shouts her name like a plea, hoping against hope that she will be there to hear him, that he can find her and pick her up in his arms and never let her go again.

The need to find Etta is so strong that he is oblivious to everything else around him, doesn't even realize that his wife is also calling out the same name, her voice and his combining to echo their daughter's name across the mass of injured and desperate strangers. But when her voice switches to cry out his name instead, he instinctively responds, momentarily sets aside his search for his daughter to find and comfort his wife.

He has no words of solace to offer her as he rushes to her side, no answers to the fear he sees written across her features. Instead, he simply pulls her into his arms, holds her close as she shivers against him. And as they cling to each other, desperate souls trying to stay afloat in a sea of grief and terror, he speaks the only reassurance that he can give her, the words that become his vow both to her and to his daughter.

"We aren't going to give up until we find her. That's a promise."

* * *

As the days go by, turn into weeks, and they are still no closer to finding their little girl, she begins to wish he had never made that promise, because every day they search pushes them closer to the breaking point. And she knows precisely how hopeless their search really is.

She remembers numbers, always has, but now she wishes she could forget the statistics she learned during her training as an FBI agent.

Four percent of children missing for longer than three hours are never found at all. And another two percent are never found alive. Etta has been gone for twenty-three days now.

For every hour a child is missing, the chance of finding them alive decreases exponentially. Twenty-three days is five hundred and fifty-two hours.

The probability of finding her alive today is less than one percent.

She doesn't share these numbers with him, because she knows that could easily destroy him. They have been partners and friends long enough that she sees clearly how close he is to the brink, reads the tell-tale signs that point to his precarious mental state. He barely sleeps, and aside from laying out each successive step in their search, he hasn't spoken to her in two weeks. And when she looks in his eyes, what she sees there scares her. After spending years watching Walter fighting a constant battle for sanity, she knows all too well what madness looks like, and now her husband's gaze is starting to eerily resemble his father's haunted eyes.

The numbers say that she has most likely already lost her daughter, and she is terrified that she is losing her husband as well. So she stays with him, pretends for his sake that she is strong, continues a search that she knows she can't finish because she can't lose him too.

But twenty-six days into their search, she realizes the truth.

They are in Connecticut when it happens, spending the night in an abandoned house on the outskirts of Hartford after a fruitless journey to search yet another crowded refugee shelter. She has lost count of the shelters and camps they've visited while trying to track down Etta, but the end result is always the same - no Etta, but some helpful social worker mentions another place they could try, another pit of swarming, desperate humanity that might hold their daughter. By now, she knows better than to allow herself to hope, but he doesn't seem to have learned that lesson, and so she watches as each failed journey pulls him further away from her, as he repeats the endless cycle of hope and despair.

And the disappointment today is worse than usual, thanks to someone who thought they recognized the little girl in the picture but turned out to be wrong, because the higher hopes are raised, the harder it is when they are dashed to the ground. She had seen a once-familiar spark come back into his eyes at the thought that today might finally be the day, only to fade back into oblivion as the small blonde head turned their way to reveal the face of someone else's daughter. And now as she sees fully the depth of his despair tonight, she knows something has to be done, before he withdraws so far that she cannot bring him back. So as they settle in on an old couch for another long, lonely night, she speaks his name, breaks the silence that has surrounded them since they left the shelter.

"Peter..."

He doesn't look up, doesn't react at all, gives no sign that he has heard her, even though her voice rings out louder than she anticipated in the silence. And she stops, unsure whether now is the right time to talk, but knowing that she must try if they are going to make it through this, though she doesn't quite know what she wants to say.

_Peter... do you think she's still alive? No, I can't go there, not tonight of all nights, not when you're already so broken, when I'm barely hanging on to you and to myself... Or maybe, Peter... we're going to find her; she'll be alright. But I don't believe that myself, and I can't lie to you, can't give you empty promises and false comfort; even if I wanted to, I don't know how..._

And then she realizes what it is she needs to say, the only thing that might give them a chance to survive this. She knows it's not what he wants to hear, but she can't lose him to this despair, so she shifts to face him, reaches out and places her hand on his arm. The unexpected contact jolts him out of his stupor, and he looks down at her hand, and then up to meet her eyes, focusing on her for the first time in weeks. And she takes his hand in hers and quietly asks him the question that needs to be voiced.

"Peter... how much longer do we do this? How much is enough?"

Again, he doesn't respond, looks at her blankly, so she continues, making it perfectly clear to him what it is she is asking.

"It's been nearly a month, Peter, and every day we search, we are drifting further apart. So I need to know - when do we accept that we might never find her?"

He still says nothing, but she can see his eyes hardening, as he attempts to shut out what she is saying, pulling away again rather than listen to her. This is what she feared would happen, but she can't turn back now, so she pleads with him one more time, makes one last effort to reach him.

"Can't you see what's happening to us? We're losing each other, and I don't want to go on alone... We need to let her go. Please, Peter..."

She stares into his eyes, imploring him to hear her, to come back to her and comfort her. But no trace of the man he once was remains in those eyes, and when he pulls his hand roughly out of hers and turns away abruptly, her breath catches and she barely hears his angrily muttered response.

"Never."

And the one person in the world who she thought would always be there for her stalks out of the room without a backward glance.

It is in that instant, as her world disintegrates around her, that she recognizes the painful truth. She has spent the days since the Observers arrived fighting to find her daughter and hold on to her husband, but those are battles she cannot win. The truth is, she lost them both in that park, and they are not coming back.

There is only one battle left for her to fight, and it isn't happening here, but in New York, with Walter and Astrid and what's left of Massive Dynamic. That is where she belongs, not here with the man she doesn't even recognize anymore, searching for the child they will never find. So she walls off the grief that threatens to incapacitate her, shoves all her emotions down behind the walls she has constructed over the years, and then slowly pushes herself up from the couch. It takes her only a few moments to gather her belongings, and then she heads resolutely out the front door, on her way to save the world again.

* * *

He slams the door behind him, then strides down the front walk to the street, so angry that he just wants to hurt something.

_How could she ask that of me? We can't just give up on Etta! We're going to find her. She's wrong about that, she has to be. Etta's still out there waiting for us, and I'm going to find her and bring her home, and then she'll see. I'm not going to give up so easily. What's wrong with her that she can't see that?_

His disjointed thoughts race through his mind as he paces back and forth along the sidewalk, kicking at the broken pavement as he inwardly rages against his wife's words. She's wrong, and he knows it, believes it with every fiber of his being.

After a few minutes of pacing angrily, he has burned off what little energy he has left, so he sits down on the stone wall surrounding the yard of the house next door, then startles when he hears a car door slam. Whirling quickly around, he looks for the source of the noise, and is surprised to find her on the curb, opening the driver's door of their car, having apparently just put something into the back seat. He hasn't stopped being furious with her for what she'd suggested, but she's still his wife, so he hurries over and arrives at the car just as she starts the engine.

He knocks on the window, trying to get her attention, and when he sees her duffel in the back seat he realizes that she isn't just going for a drive to clear her head. She pointedly ignores him, and he feels the car rock slightly as she puts it into gear, so he moves to the front of the hood, slams his hands down on it and plants his feet, blocking her path.

"Hey! Exactly where do you think you're going? Get out of that car now!"

Instead of getting out, she cranks down the window and replies clearly and coldly, in the voice he knows she reserves for the people she despises.

"I am going to New York to help Walter. Now get out of my way."

"I'm not moving until you get out and explain yourself."

He knows all too well how stubborn she can be once she sets her mind to something, but he also knows how to wait her out, and he does just that right now. After several tense seconds, she exits the car, shutting her door behind her, and then moves to stand a few feet away, all the while glaring at him.

"Etta's gone. You don't even talk to me. And the world needs us. That has always been what I was meant to do, what I was designed for. So I am going to New York."

She stops for a second then, and he hears her voice soften as she takes a few steps towards him and starts again.

"Please, Peter, come with me."

But he's still too angry with her, too absorbed in his own emotions to even consider what she's asking, so he simply gives her the same answer he did earlier.

"Never."

He can tell he has hurt her, but he doesn't care right now, barely listens to what she says next, ignores the tears forming in her eyes as she tries one more time.

"Listen to me, Peter, please. Even if you don't care about us anymore, don't you care about everyone else? This world is going to die without us, Peter, and..."

He cuts her off abruptly, grabs her arm and pulls her closer as he growls down at her.

"I. Don't. Care. Etta matters more than all that stuff. Don't you get that? I have to find her... The world can go to hell for all I care. I just need to save her..."

A look of shock momentarily crosses her face at his words, and she stares at him in disbelief.

"Can't you hear yourself? You sound just like your father... And you swore you'd be better than him..."

At that, he steps away from her, cut to the heart by her accusation. Turning away, he opens the car door, and speaks in a low voice.

"I think you should go now."

She hesitates then, but he pulls her roughly towards the car, grabbing the keys off the seat as he shoves her into it. He presses the keys into her hand, slams the door shut, then wheels around and begins to walk away. He almost wants her to call out to him, to apologize, but her next words drive home the wedge between them.

"Fine. You go ahead and destroy yourself. But we're done. Do you hear me? We're finished. And if you ever change your mind, don't even think about coming crawling back to me asking for a second chance, because it's not going to happen."

And he hears the car start up again, and the engine noise fades as she pulls away from the curb and starts down the street. He turns then, watches the faded tail lights vanish into the dusk, and as she rounds the corner and disappears, he suddenly realizes what he has done.

He hasn't taken care of the people he cares about. Rather, he has lost his daughter, and now he's driven his wife away. And he sinks slowly onto the stone wall, buries his head in his hands as the tears start to come, as he sees how completely he has failed the ones he loves.

* * *

New York is not the solution she thought it was going to be. Every moment she spends working with Walter is a reminder of their years in the Harvard lab, of the days when she worked alongside both Bishops, not just one. Their plans progress, with every day bringing them just a little bit closer to being able to defeat the Observers, but though she thinks she has convinced herself that this is where she is supposed to be, her subconscious feels otherwise.

During the day, she is alright, but her dreams repeat the same story every night - terrible nightmares in which she is always left holding a broken body in her arms. Sometimes the body is small and fragile: her daughter, found too late to save her. And sometimes it is him instead, dead because she wasn't there for him, because she didn't save him from being shot or tortured or simply giving up. Every time, she wakes calling out their names with tears streaming down her face, then instinctively reaches out for him but always finds herself alone. And she tries to tell herself that they are just dreams, but they are too close to the truth, could too easily be reality for her to put them behind her.

She buries herself in her work to escape her thoughts.

But on the day when Walter sends her to retrieve a vital piece of the plan, at the moment when she pulls the trigger on the ambering device, it is their faces she sees - her husband and her daughter. Not the way they looked when she last saw them, though, but the faces from her dreams, dead eyes staring at her.

_I failed you both..._

And that is the thought that is frozen in her mind.

* * *

That day in the park, everything is stripped away.

And for twenty-one long years, their world is left to die.


	3. Reunion

******Author's Note:** So... Peter's de-Observerfication happened and then I had to go write about that (in a separate fic and also in the last piece of this one) instead of working on finishing up this section. Also, "mostly finished" wound up meaning about halfway done (this story seems to have a mind of its own), but it finally finished itself, so here you go. Next section might not be up for a while - I'm a little stuck on some pieces, and also getting to the time of year where real life goes crazy, so we'll see. But enjoy this one!

* * *

**Part Three - Reunion**

* * *

He is Peter Bishop, and therefore, on the day after he finds his daughter (or rather, she finds him), on the day when he finds his wife, he feels like his nightmare is finally ending. And with his daughter, things are alright - she is so much like her mom that he can't help but smile, and the little pieces of himself that he sees in her also delight him. They always had a special connection even when she was so small, and somehow, miraculously, some part of that has survived twenty-one years of separation. He knows that it can't possibly always be this easy, that as the days go by, there will inevitably be kinks in their relationship to work out, but they _will_ work them out - he knows this on an instinctual level.

But with his wife, everything is different; the decisions of the past hang between them, and while he works with her as easily as ever, something is very wrong. He feels this when they talk, when she calmly tells him, "We just were incapable of being what we needed to be for each other. That was all it was." It feels to him like the calm before the storm, before all the emotions she is burying come flying in his face, before she tells him, as she did once on a cold, dark night, "I don't want to be with you." And he is so scared of losing her again, after he just found her, that there is no way he can sleep that night, so after hours of tossing and turning, he makes his way to the kitchen for a cup of tea and a place to think.

* * *

She is Olivia Dunham, and so, on the day when she is blown out of the amber, when she opens her eyes to see the people she thought were lost to her forever, she is overwhelmed by so many conflicting emotions that she has no idea how to process them.

Guilt, because of how wrong she was to give up on her daughter. Pride, in the strength she sees in the young woman who fights for those who don't have the courage to fight for themselves. Sorrow, at the memory of all that has been lost to time and circumstance. Longing, to find out everything about who her daughter has become. Regret, when all that remains between him and her is a distant echo of what they once had. Fear, that even this will be lost to them and she will be alone for good. And somewhere deep down, hope, although she barely allows herself to acknowledge it. Hope, that nothing can be so damaged that it cannot be rebuilt, that there are some things that can survive anything the universe throws at them.

So it is not the strangeness of this new world that keeps her awake that night, nor is it the hard mattress, or the unfamiliarity of her surroundings. No, it is the young woman asleep in the next room, and the man sprawled across the mattress against the wall opposite her - these are the reasons she watches the clock mark off hour after hour, unable or unwilling to close her eyes. And although she faces away from him, she knows he is not sleeping either, notices each time he rolls over, hears him breathing, so close to her and yet so infinitely far away.

She lies perfectly still as the hours pass, watches the numbers on the clock change slowly - 3:26... 3:27... 3:28... As the last digit changes from an eight to a nine, she hears the faint creak of old floorboards as he quietly pushes himself up from his blankets and pads out of the room, his bare feet making almost no noise on the dusty floor. It is only then that she rolls over, in time to watch him disappear down the hall, and moments later the sound of cupboards opening and closing lets her know where he is.

She waits until the noises from the kitchen have stopped, then for several minutes longer, and when he does not reappear, she moves from her bed to the doorway, and, when there is still only silence, heads towards the kitchen. Even now, she is not sure why she follows him, or whether she wants to have another painful conversation with him, so she moves carefully, silently, hoping he will not notice her until she has decided what she wants. And the universe seems to be on her side tonight, as he is sitting at the kitchen island with his back towards her, his feet hooked on the rungs of his stool and his attention entirely on the steaming mug in his hands, allowing her to stop and watch him unobserved.

As she stands there in the shadows, leaning against the door frame, the scene in front of her takes her back to a better time, to another quiet evening when she had followed him down to the kitchen of their home.

_She had been woken abruptly in the middle of the night by the mattress shifting as he rolled out of the bed, and as he shuffled out of the room, she also crawled out from under the covers. As her feet landed on the floor, the cold seeped into her toes, and she quickly pulled on the pair of slippers that Walter had bought for her, thankful for once for his odd notions of necessities. Chuckling softly to herself at the memory those slippers brought to mind, she crept quietly down the hall, stopping at the nursery door to peek in on Etta as she went by._

_By the time she reached the kitchen, he had already put the kettle on to boil, and his head was hidden behind the fridge door as he rummaged through the leftovers and condiments on the shelves. He emerged a second later with the grape jelly, and turned to add it to his collection on the kitchen island - bread, peanut butter, and now jelly as well. That was no surprise to her - she had learned early on in their relationship that there weren't many things that he and Walter agreed on, but when it came to late-night snacks, they were both firm believers in a good peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich._

_He didn't seem to have heard her come down the hall, so she strolled over to stand behind him as he constructed his sandwich, then wrapped her arms around his torso from behind, resting her head between his shoulder blades. Turning in her embrace, he gazed down at her as his slow grin spread across his face._

_"Hey, hon. Want some tea?"_

_"Sure, if you want company."_

_"If that company's you? Always. Peppermint flavor as usual?"_

_She nodded, and moved to settle herself onto a stool as he poured the hot water. Coming back with the mugs, he set them down on the counter, then scooted the other stool closer and sat down. They sat in companionable silence while they sipped at the tea, and as she came to the bottom of the mug, she looked over at him, catching him staring at her with a smile on his face._

_"What's so amusing?"_

_"Nothing really. It's just... well... I was thinking how lucky I am. Between you and Etta, things couldn't be more perfect."_

_She leaned over and kissed him gently, then pulled back far enough to respond._

_"I love you too. Now will you come back to bed? There are some nice warm blankets that are calling my name..."_

The memory fades out, and she returns to the present, but the contentment she had felt that night lingers for a moment in her mind, reminding her of how good their life together had been. For once in her life, happiness like that had been the norm, rather than the exception, and that night had been only one of many when she had almost believed that it could last.

It would be easy for her to blame him for letting go of what they had together, for abandoning her after spending years convincing her to trust him, but tonight, she feels sorrow instead of anger. She understands now that it takes two to break a connection, that they are equally guilty of letting go of each other. He may have taken that step first, but she gave up on him as well, stopped hanging on because it was hard. So although she has not fully forgiven him, she can't bring herself to be mad at him anymore.

And as she watches him tonight, remembers how perfect they had been together, she knows that she wants that back, wants him back. So she waits for the right moment to approach him, willing to face whatever might come for a chance to recover what they once had.

* * *

The hot tea is soothing, and as he sits holding the mug in his hands, he thinks long and hard about the future. He finds it hard to believe that he could ever really get his family back; it seems too good to be true, and so, of course, it probably is. But he hopes for it nonetheless, sees possibilities where once he would have only seen futility.

_"And I thought you were a card-carrying cynic..."_

He shakes his head and grins wryly as he remembers the smirk on her face when she said those words. It seems so long ago now, almost as if it had been an alternate version of himself in the car with her that night.

"What's so amusing?"

He jumps at her question, not having realized that he was no longer alone in the kitchen with his thoughts. And how to explain this one to her now, that he was hoping for their future, when she made it very clear just a month ago (or actually twenty years, but it feels like a month to him) that whatever they'd had was over for good, even if he ever did decide to come crawling back to her? Even the memory of that last exchange causes him to cringe inwardly, so he falls back on what he has always relied on - a sarcastic comment to direct the conversation somewhere safer, somewhere where he doesn't have to risk having those hopes destroyed, those possibilities closed to him.

"Remember all those weird connections that you used to poke fun at me about? Well, I think our daughter has me beat for weird connections any day, and that's quite an accomplishment. I'm just feeling a bit of fatherly pride in how well she's following in the family tradition."

"Just what every mother dreams of - having her daughter grow up to be just like her father; a world-class con artist..."

"...who tries to save the world - don't forget about that part."

He grins at her, glad to be having a conversation that doesn't feel stilted or awkward.

"I seem to recall you had to be blackmailed into that..."

"...by someone with no actual blackmail material, who tricked me into joining Frankenstein's circus... With us for parents, how else did you think she was going to turn out?"

His voice trails off sadly at that last statement, as the forced cheerfulness gives way to the realization that there was never really any chance for his daughter to have a normal life, as he remembers all that they almost had and thinks of all the time they've lost. He drops his gaze back down to his cup of tea, not sure of what to say now, now that he has disrupted the easy back-and-forth. There are so many things he wants to say, but he doesn't have any idea how to begin.

_Oh, Liv, I've missed you so much... And now I can't even find a way to tell you how sorry I am, how much I wish I could go back and change the past, be there for you like I promised I would be. And even now I still don't know if I could do it differently, if I could let her go so I wouldn't lose you, so how can I even ask you to forgive me? I was supposed to take care of you, take care of her, and instead I lost you both, and I will never forgive myself for that, so how can I expect you to? But Liv, I can't keep going like this; you are my home, you have always been my home, and to have you here but not with me, to have my family back but so broken... I can't keep doing this, I need you to understand, to forgive me, to help me forgive myself..._

And he can't pretend he's alright anymore, can't even face her after failing her so completely, so he continues to stare into the depths of his mug, even as tears run down his nose and drip softly into his tea.

* * *

Her heart breaks for him as she watches him fall apart, but she stands motionless for an endless moment, searching to find the right way to approach him. He has always been better than her at offering support, a reassuring word or embrace flowing naturally out of him, while she struggles to offer the simplest of comfort, even to him. But tonight, he needs her, and so, with a few quick steps, she crosses the kitchen floor to him and cautiously places her hand on his back.

As she does, she can feel his sobs increase, shaking his body as he gulps in air. And then she notices what he is murmuring with each breath, and she closes her eyes as she hears the pain in his voice.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

He repeats it over and over, a confession and a plea rolled into one, and each repetition tears at her heart, as she sees the depth of his anguish.

A small part of her notes that the guilt he bears is his in truth, that he deserves this pain after what he did, but it is quickly overridden by the piece that cannot bear to see him hurting, that has forgiven him so much already because there is no one else for her in this world or any other.

So she wraps her arms around his shoulders, holds him tightly as she whispers in his ear, gifts him with the only words that can release him from his distress.

"I forgive you."

She feels his breath catch as he hears her, and she repeats herself gently, offers again those beautiful words.

"I forgive you, Peter."

And his sobs begin anew, but this time she can feel the tension leaving his body, and she knows these are tears of relief rather than guilt. It is several minutes before he is able to begin to compose himself, and she holds him through it all, only letting go and stepping away when he straightens himself up and wipes at the tear trails on his cheeks.

* * *

As she moves away and situates herself on the stool next to him, he realizes exactly how much he wants to find a way back to what they used to have. She is the one person who knows him better than anyone else; he belongs with her, and he knows it, so he takes a deep breath and lays his hopes on the line.

"You want to know what I was really thinking about when you came in? I was thinking that maybe there's a chance for us..."

He looks over at her, trying to gauge her reaction to that statement. As usual, she isn't showing much of what she's thinking, but at least she doesn't get up and leave, so he supposes that's a good sign.

"I know, kind of an odd thought for an old cynic like me..."

At that, he catches the corner of her mouth twitch upward, and when she responds he knows she's remembering that same long-ago conversation.

"You, a card-carrying cynic? It's been a long time since that description actually fit you, Peter, and we both know it."

Pushing his mug out of the way, he crosses his arms on the countertop as he huffs out a sardonic chuckle.

"Maybe it'd be better if it still was true, you know. After all, that cynic wouldn't have held on to Etta and wound up hurting you... Hell, he wouldn't have had a family to mess up in the first place..."

He can tell he has her attention now, notices out of the corner of his eye as her gaze darts over to him and she stiffens slightly. This isn't the direction he intended this to go, but now that he's started he finds that even though she's forgiven him, he really needs to explain to her exactly what happened inside him to bring them to this point, so he continues.

"I was good at it, you know. At never needing anyone, never really connecting, never getting emotionally involved. It might not have been the most fulfilling life, but I was fine with it, even liked it some days. And then you came along and changed all that... That "frustrated romantic", the one hiding behind all those smart remarks? You gave me the courage to be him, gave me a reason to want to be better, for you."

He runs his fingers through his hair as he speaks, his words tumbling out one on top of the next, his voice raising and tempo increasing as he careens towards his conclusion.

"And maybe I'm still just a frustrated romantic - God knows life has thrown enough our way for that to be totally true - but somewhere along the way that became okay. I had you, I had her, I even had Walter, and somehow, at some point, the cynic couldn't ignore all the good in my life, the way that alternate universes and radically altered timelines and even dying couldn't stop us from being together. And even when we lost her, when I knew deep down there was nothing I could do, I couldn't just move on anymore, I couldn't run, because how do you give up the best thing you've ever had? How do you let go, when you've already bent universes and time itself to have one more chance to make things right?"

There is silence in the kitchen as he finishes, and he finds himself holding his breath as he waits for her response. The future of the world may not hinge on what she says next, but he's pretty sure their future does, and right now that matters more to him than anything else.

* * *

His heartfelt confession tugs at her soul, causing her to realize something that she really should have seen all along - that the one thing which made them a family was the absolute, unstoppable, passionate, and dangerous love that they shared. And when she let go of that love, choosing instead the safer kind, the love that holds back a piece of itself in order to avoid the possibility of pain, the bonds that held them together started to slip apart. He would never have given up on her, or on Etta, and she should have done the same, loved them both with the strength and devotion that had sent her across universes for him so many years ago.

And in that instant, she remembers what it feels like to love that strongly, to love without fear and without restraint, and she sees that he could never have let Etta go, not without losing a piece of himself in the process. So she turns towards him and takes his hand, grasps it firmly as she responds.

"You don't let go... I understand that now."

He looks up at her with hope shining in his eyes, and she gives him a soft smile as she continues.

"And this time we won't, ever. Not of her and not of each other. Not again... I want what you want, Peter - I want us to be a family again."

After all this time, she cannot take one more minute of separation now that she knows they both want the same thing, so she slips from her stool, moving to embrace him. And he seems to read her mind, simultaneously standing and opening his arms to her, as she slips into the familiar, comforting haven of his arms for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

She knows that they still have a long road ahead of them as they rebuild their family, but tonight they have begun to put the pieces back in place, and tomorrow they will continue the process, one small step at a time. And she allows herself a moment of hope in the midst of the bleakness of the future they have been transported to, because it just isn't possible for her to cling to her instinctive pessimism on the day when she has been given back everything.

So she wraps her arms around him a little tighter, as she swears to herself that this time they will make it through; this time they will hold together, no matter what comes their way.

* * *

That day in the kitchen of a dingy apartment, something lost is returned.

And for a few short days, there is hope in the world again.


	4. Finality

******Author's Note:** First, I apologize for taking forever to finish this. I had major writer's block for the beginning of this section, and also started working on three other pieces (two for Fringe, one not). But I really wanted to finish this before the finale, because I have a feeling that the finale is going to change everything, although I really hope they don't just reset time because that seems like a cop-out to me. Anyway.

Being without internet access while visiting my in-laws wound up being good for getting past my writer's block on this. Also, with Peter and Olivia back together on the show, I could actually finish this section the way I had planned to when I started it right after 5x01, while still staying within canon. And as a side note, the last three lines of this were one of the first parts I wrote, back at the beginning of the season, and I just had to change the timing of them very slightly, as I had thought Etta would make it a little farther into the season before dying. So I'm really happy that I had a good enough picture of where the season would go for this to still be a relevant story three months after I started working on it. And I'm really grateful to the people who've read and reviewed this story - hopefully you've liked reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

* * *

**Part Four - Finality**

* * *

He is Peter Bishop, and therefore, at the moment when his daughter is murdered, when she is taken from him forever, something inside him snaps. And as he holds her fragile body in his arms, desperately clinging to her in an attempt to somehow stave off the inevitable, he rages against the Observers, against the universe for stealing away his child, even against Olivia and Walter, for pulling him away from her, for refusing to let him die with her.

By the time they make it out of the warehouse, the shock has set in, and he stares blankly at the world, unable to process what has just happened. And he watches the warehouse vanish with the same vacant look, lost in the cacophony of the voices inside his head.

_No, no, no, no... She's dead... I failed. She's gone. Please let me die too. How do I go on with a piece of my soul ripped out? They killed her... He murdered her, ripped away her life, stole my daughter from me forever! Gone forever... I couldn't save her. I was too late... again. Always too late, always too weak, how many times do I have to watch them die? Why is it always them, and never me? Why am I condemned to live while the people I love are taken from me? Haven't I seen enough, given enough?_

Each of their deaths is indelibly etched in his mind, engraved in his memory forever, and none is more painful than this last, because this time there isn't a machine to alter the timeline, there's no Cortexiphan to work a miracle, there's nothing he can do. She's dead. And there isn't even a body left to bury.

It's almost as if she never existed at all, except for the gaping hole she has left in his heart.

And it's a hole that he knows will never heal, because you can't patch up a broken soul. The only thing he can do is try to make her death mean something, to succeed at the very thing she gave her life for, to wipe her killers from existence. He will honor her memory by obliterating them, even if it costs him his life. Because without her, without Etta, he doesn't care what happens to him.

He doesn't need the posters with her face to remind him of what he must do. All he has to do is close his eyes, and he sees her, sees her blood soaking her shirt, covering his hands. He will never forget, and will never stop, not until they are all dead, until he has done to them what they did to her.

_"Before you go on a journey of revenge, dig two graves."_

He's going to need a lot more than two before he's finished.

* * *

She is Olivia Dunham, and so, at the moment when she hears a solitary gunshot reverberate throughout the old warehouse, she knows instantly that this is it. This is the moment she has been dreading since she first discovered she was pregnant, the instant when her most terrifying fears have now become reality. And she breathes out Etta's name, offering up a silent prayer to the universe.

_Please don't take her... please let me be wrong, just this once..._

But as she glimpses her daughter slumped limply against the wall, as she takes in the amount of blood that she has already lost, she knows this is the end, and she can't do anything to stop Etta from slipping away. These will be her last moments with her daughter, her final instants as a mother.

And now, kneeling there in front of her only child, she feels the weight of all the missed opportunities, all the times she shrank back from fully loving her the way a mother should. She had reasons, so many of them, good reasons for loving with only half her heart. After all, the universe had made a habit of periodically stripping away from her everything and everyone that she cared about, so wouldn't it be safer for all involved if she kept her distance? But in this instant, as she stares into her daughter's eyes, she finally finds the courage to do what she was never able to do before.

Maybe it is because the future is no longer uncertain, or because she knows this is her last chance to get it right. Or maybe it is the look of fear in her daughter's eyes, the need for reassurance that she sees there that finally frees her from the walls she had so carefully maintained. She herself is not sure exactly what happens inside her at that moment, but whatever the cause, she is able to reach deep inside herself and speak the words she needs to say, the words her daughter needs to hear.

"Etta... I love you so much."

Such simple words, and yet for her, they are some of the hardest words in the world to say. And as she gazes down at her daughter, as she hears her soft answer, she chokes back tears, because in that answer she hears forgiveness, and understanding, and love.

"I know."

And implied, but not spoken,_ I've always known._

It is strange that she should finally find peace in being a mother at the feet of her dying daughter, but even the pain of her heart breaking cannot cause her to pull back, not anymore. She doesn't cling to her daughter as he does, doesn't try to hold on to her for just one more instant - that has never been her. But she loves her all the same, infinitely, finally, forever.

* * *

His daughter was always the center of his world, and even in death, she remains there. Everything he does now is because of her, and for her. For her, he will willingly risk everything in a bloody quest for vengeance, toying with destructive technology he doesn't understand, leaving Olivia behind because he knows she isn't ready to follow where he needs to go. For her, he will become whoever he needs to be, letting loose his rage against one of_ them_, coldly dealing out death and destruction as a monument to her memory.

But it isn't enough, he isn't enough, and that fact is painfully clear to him when their best conceived plan of attack stops the Observers for mere seconds.

He doesn't have any sort of a plan in mind when he returns to the captured Observer; he simply can't go back to the lab after having failed so miserably. The rage seething inside of him needs to be released, and while hurting the Observer may not accomplish anything in the grand scheme of things, they hurt his daughter, and so hurting them feels good.

And then, in the midst of shoving his spite in the Observer's face, he realizes the answer. He throws it at him as an insult at first, but as soon as he utters the words, he knows them for truth.

"I would be ten times what you are if I had that tech in my head!"

His words ring in the air as he suddenly stops, struck by a revelation.

_That's it. That's the answer. That's how we win._

Up til now, he has always been too slow, too weak, too late. But no longer. And he doesn't hesitate, doesn't stop to think through the possible consequences, because nothing matters except destroying them, every last one of the cold-blooded monsters who murdered his daughter. Consequences be damned. He_ will_ have his vengeance.

* * *

She watches from a distance as he continues to pull away from her, repeating his self-destructive pattern of twenty years ago. This time, though, she doesn't stand back and simply let events run their course. Instead, she strives to pull him back, to remind him of what matters, to maintain their connection and grieve their daughter together.

But she can tell that even her best efforts are not enough, that she is losing him again, but to what, she isn't sure.

At first, it seems to be a simple desire to strike back at the Observers, to make Etta's life and death mean something, and while she fears the consequences of an all-consuming quest for vengeance, at least he is talking to her, and not shutting himself off entirely. And then, after their best laid plans fail, she starts to notice changes in him, little things that no one else would ever detect, but which scream to her that there is something terribly wrong.

The curiously blank look on his face whenever he is not actively engaging another person. A coldness in his eyes that she has never seen before, and that seems completely at odds with the volatility and emotion that were there only a day or two ago. New (and odd) mannerisms, a stiffness to his movements that is the exact opposite of his normal casual grace.

While she marks these down to emotional overload, to his response to having their daughter violently ripped away just when they had started to become a family again, she knows that no matter what the cause, he is changing into someone she no longer knows. And though she pleads with him to put aside whatever he is doing and simply come home, though she tries to make it clear to him worried she is for him, and for them, it seems to make no difference.

So when she follows him to Etta's apartment for the second time, it is because she refuses to lose him to his grief like she lost him twenty years ago. She goes prepared to confront him about his keeping secrets, his pulling away from her, but what she discovers is so much worse than she could ever have imagined.

* * *

He makes his plans in her apartment, plots their demise in rooms where his dead daughter once lived and laughed and loved. Not too long ago, this place was a constant reminder to him of what he lost, and nurtured his grief and rage as the sights and smells triggered his memories. Now, though, it is simply an expedient location for him to utilize as he works towards their destruction. The grief and rage are suppressed by the tech that continues to change him, tech that gives him almost-supernatural powers in return for his humanity.

Love, grief, anger, pain - the tech eliminates these along with every other emotion.

But revenge is not an emotion.

It is simply a series of actions to achieve a specific outcome.

She should not have died. This is firmly established as fact in his mind. Never mind that it has no logical backing, is entirely based on past emotions - he views it as a fundamental fact, and this allows him to continue with his objective.

The Observers are responsible for her death. This is an indisputable fact.

Therefore, they must be eliminated. This conclusion is close enough to logical for him to hold on to it as his goal, even though the emotions that provided the original impetus are no longer the force that drives him.

And with every moment that passes, those initial feelings become less relevant to who he is now. In fact, he sees now that abstracts such as 'love' and 'anger' and 'guilt' are the very things that would have made it impossible for him to avenge her, that these are weaknesses that the Observers do not share with humankind, and so he must not either.

He doesn't even try to fight against the tech as it changes him into someone or something else.

Instead, he lets go of who he was in order to become who he needs to be.

At the core, his new self is really no different from the person he was before Baghdad: an isolated individual using every means at his disposal to manipulate the world around him to achieve a goal. Emotions, attachments, even love - these had no place in a con man's life, would have gotten him killed. And today, in a world where he needs every weapon he can use, where one moment of distraction could be the end, this is even more true. He had distanced himself from the rest of humankind for almost two decades before; now, for the sake of his mission, he does it again.

In the end, he comes back to the beginning.

And when she comes to the apartment, as he knew she would, he does his best to show her that this is the way things have to be, that everything is better like this, that this is who he needs to be. She doesn't listen, can't see, because she is still blinded by emotions, but that doesn't really matter, because he doesn't need her anymore. He will avenge Etta, with or without her. So when she quietly slips out of the apartment, he knows she is afraid for him, afraid of him, but that is really of no consequence to him. The man he used to be would have cared, but the man he has become, the man he has returned to - he is unencumbered by such trivial things as feelings.

_"I think you got the wrong guy... Let me save you the time - I'd rather stay here in Iraq... I can't help you."_

Nothing matters now except Windmark. And he will make him pay.

* * *

She hasn't felt this alone in years, not since the day John Scott died from the after-effects of the chemical blast, or the day he lived long enough to betray her before dying in her arms. Tonight, she feels that same helplessness and fear, because once again the man she loves is slipping away, being slowly but inexorably destroyed by the product of a science that she doesn't understand. And she can't fight what she doesn't understand, so instead of trying, she slips out the door of Etta's apartment to find the one person who is able to comprehend what is happening inside his brain.

She needs Walter now, even more desperately than she did that first time, because she can't lose Peter again - he is the piece of her that was missing for so many years, and she has lost him too many times already. So she needs Walter to make sense of this, to tell her what she has to do to save him, what must happen in order for her to bring him back.

But when Walter comes through, when he figures out the complex process that the tech ignites in a human brain, her world drops out from under her for a moment.

_"His brain is being altered, and soon it will be irreversible." What if it is already? What if I waited too long to confront him? Have I lost him forever? I can't lose him. I just can't. Maybe he was never mine to have in the first place... No! That's not how it is. This time I'm not letting go that easily. It's not too late. We belong together and nothing can change that._

For the entirety of her drive to New York, she clings to that belief, to the fact that the universe has tried to separate them before and failed, time after time, to the fact that their love has always proven itself stronger than every obstacle that has stood in their way.

She will not lose him this time, simply because she will not let him go. Even if too much time has passed, even if the man she loves has vanished behind that empty facade, she will not give up this time. Their love has worked miracles before, flown in the face of science, and she has to believe it will again, because the alternative is unthinkable.

* * *

Somehow, somewhere, buried deep underneath the flow of logic and reason, his capacity for love survives. And when she comes to him, appeals to a power beyond rational explanation, that piece of him resonates with what she's saying, understands what it is she is trying to do, what it is that he needs to do. Logic tries to drown it out, tries to convince him that the tech is the only path to victory, that Windmark will live if he turns from his path, that all the sacrifices that have been made to this point will be useless if he lets her sway him.

Maybe, if Windmark had not shown him his daughter's last thoughts, logic would have won, but he feels something as he thinks of Etta's dying moments, feels anger and grief, feels the love he had for his beautiful, perfect, precious daughter. The tech may have damped those emotions, but a love that is as deep and as powerful as his was is not easily done away with, not easily set aside.

So when she pleads with him to remember who he is, to hold on to Etta and the love they shared, when those feelings push their way through the barrier of cold reason, it is as if a dam inside his mind bursts. And he is suddenly flooded with memories of the most precious moments of his life, and he doesn't just recall the events themselves, but the emotions that filled him then, that defined who he was, and really still define who he is, even if he'd forgotten that.

In that instant, as he remembers how glorious and painful and wonderful love is, he knows that he can't live without this, that without the ability to love he is nothing. But he also knows that he has only a few moments before the tech overrides his emotions again, causing him to forget the value of the most priceless thing in the world, so he makes his choice quickly, following his heart rather than his head.

He chooses Etta, chooses Olivia, chooses his humanity over the chance for vengeance. And as he pulls the tech from his neck and collapses against her, there is no doubt in his mind that this is right. This is who he really is, and where he was meant to be.

* * *

She rests in his arms that night for the first time since Etta's loss tore them apart, curled up against him on the cold stone of the balcony. And though the world around them is still crumbling under the rule of the Observers, she sleeps soundly, secure in the belief that they can win this battle, so long as they hold on to love and to hope.

The growing brightness of the early morning light wakes her, and she shifts instinctively, burying her face in his chest to catch one more minute of quiet peace before returning to the battle that lies ahead of them. As she does, she hears him murmur her name, and she looks up, surprised to find him awake this early.

When she sees his face in the morning light, she realizes fully the toll that removing the tech must have taken on his body, because although he wears a peaceful expression, there are dark circles under his eyes that weren't there last night, and he looks utterly worn out. Gently placing her hand along his jawline, she feels the prickle of his stubble under her fingers, and looks up at him with eyes full of concern.

"You look awful, Peter. Did you sleep at all last night?"

He smiles down at her, running his fingers through her hair.

"I'm okay; I just have a bit of a headache. I wouldn't recommend self-inflicted brain surgery on the whole, but I'll be alright. Don't worry, Liv."

Giving him a suspicious look, she starts to question him again to make sure he's not passing off serious side effects as nothing, but he seems to sense where she's going, and quickly forestalls any more detailed line of questioning.

"I'm okay, really."

With a small sigh, she decides to trust him and drops that conversation for the moment. Instead, she gazes past his shoulder towards the ever-lightening sky, taking in the thin gray clouds that obscure what would otherwise be a beautiful sunrise. She can't help but be reminded of the damage that has been done to the atmosphere by the banks of machines around the planet, and she wonders if she'll live to see the day when the sun breaks through again.

But even that train of thought brings her hope, as she remembers her words to her alternate years ago in the face of a similar situation. Maybe sunrises and rainbows really are gone for good, but on this morning of all mornings, she is filled with hope instead of doubt, and she quietly whispers those words to herself, as both a reminder and a reassurance.

_"Keep looking up..."_

And at that moment, she catches sight of the briefest flash of light through the clouds, as a single ray of sunlight breaks through for an instant before being swallowed up again.

A thrill rushes through her at the sight, and that momentary ray of light, so short that she would have missed it had she blinked, seems to offer a promise of better days to come, bolstering her hopes for a brighter future.

_"This is my favorite time of day... sunrise, when the world is full of promise." Maybe this time we can hold on to what we've found together. Maybe this is our new beginning._

For the first time in years, she feels real hope again, and is able to truly believe that this dawn marks a turning point for them.

After all, their love has just defeated the best science and logic and reason to bring them back together. And together, they can face whatever the universe sends their way.

* * *

That day in the warehouse, something irreplaceable is lost forever.

And for the rest of their lives, the world will never quite be complete.

But this time, they have each other, and at this moment, that is everything they need.


End file.
